Anger boiled through his veins, replacing his earlier contentment with rage. No more would he tolerate this, no matter Rorie’s arguments. Eveline would come to no harm, his clan be damned. If they could not see the treasure that had been bestowed on their clan, then they were all fools and he would suffer no fools. No longer.
This matter would come to an end the very next day.
CHAPTER 32
Eveline woke with a start and for a moment was so disoriented, she couldn’t gain her bearings. Then she smiled because she was snuggled tightly against her husband and his arm was thrown possessively over her body.
She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. After the few days she’d had, she’d desperately needed what he’d given her the night before. Tenderness. Loving. His actions had shown her more than words ever could, that he valued her. That she meant something more than a wife he was forced into marriage with.
Perhaps one day … She sighed wistfully. Perhaps one day she would even gain his love. Oh to be able to hear those words. Really hear them. The idea sent an ache straight to her heart that nearly overpowered her.
She hadn’t spent a lot of time dwelling on the fact that she’d lost her hearing. In the beginning, she’d done plenty of moping and had even wondered if it was God’s punishment for her sins. But as time had gone on, she’d accepted that she’d never hear again. She’d never be normal and she’d never hear the things she’d taken for granted before. Music. Her mother’s voice. Her brothers’ teasing. And the rumble of her father’s voice, full of patience for his free-spirited daughter.
But now she’d give anything to be able to hear words of love from her husband. If not love, affection. She wanted to be able to hear the things she saw in his eyes and felt when he touched her.
He might never grow to truly love her as her father loved her mother, but perhaps that kind of love didn’t exist freely. She knew from hearing earlier accounts from her mother, that it hadn’t always been so between her and Eveline’s father. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, as so many were, and at first, neither had any liking for the suit.
But over time, they’d grown to love each other as fiercely as two people can love, and Eveline had grown up the beneficiary of that love and devotion. She wanted it for herself. She wanted it with a ferocity that she couldn’t even articulate. It was why she’d been so adamant that she’d never marry Ian McHugh, because she’d known without a doubt that he was not a man who’d ever treat her well, much less regard her with any love or affection.
It was her mother’s story of growing to love her father and his eventual love for her that gave Eveline hope that she too might find a love like theirs with her Montgomery warrior.
Fanciful, aye, she was that, but she’d set her mind to gaining acceptance from his clan. From him. And she wouldn’t rest until she had it. If it took cleaning the keep from top to bottom and tearing her hands until they were rough and callused, then she’d do it without regret.
It was that determination that drove her early from her warm bed next to her husband when she’d love nothing more than to wake him in a way he’d remember for days to come.
She rose, shivering, quickly dressed, and then set the fire to blazing so Graeme would awaken in comfort. Then she went below stairs, prepared for another day of torment.
She wondered what today’s tasks would bring. Maybe Nora would have her cleaning chamber pots. She shuddered at the thought, but didn’t think it was out of the realm of possibility.
Nora looked surprised to see her and didn’t quite cover her reaction. Eveline could swear she saw guilt in the older woman’s eyes, but quickly set aside that ridiculous notion. Nora was a tough taskmaster and Eveline doubted she ever felt sorry for any of the women under her supervision.
“Good morn,” Eveline sang out, determined to be cheerful despite the urge to run as fast as she could back up the stairs and dive underneath the warm blankets.
Nora sent her a disgruntled look and then motioned her over to where she stood with Mary and two other younger women Eveline didn’t know by name.
“You can help finish up the preparations for the morning meal,” Nora said. “ ’Tis simple enough fare. Oatcakes and bread with a bit of porridge for those who want it.”
Eveline sighed in relief. It did sound simple enough, and it shouldn’t be a threat to her aching hands.
After receiving instruction from Mary on how to fashion the oatcakes, she dove into the duty, determined not to show any reluctance whatsoever. She quickly discovered that preparing enough food for a hungry horde of warriors wasn’t a simple matter at all.
Her attempts weren’t as well shaped as Mary’s had been, but they should suffice and it would taste the same. She couldn’t imagine anyone quibbling over the appearance of something as unappetizing as an oatcake.
When she looked up after finishing as many as she had mixture for, she discovered that the kitchen was empty and that the women had disappeared.
Frowning over that oddity, she wiped her hands on her skirts and glanced around to be certain she hadn’t missed anything she was supposed to have prepared for the breaking of fast.
A moment later, Nora and Mary reappeared and hurried over to begin piling the oatcakes on serving trays while one of the other women took care of the bread.
Nora frowned over the misshapen oatcakes and then cast Eveline an impatient look. It was a look that said, “You’re hopeless.”
Disheartened, Eveline’s shoulders sagged, but then she quickly squared them and held her hands out for one of the serving trays.
Mary readily handed over her tray and then shooed Eveline in the direction of the hall.
Suddenly nervous, Eveline hesitated at the doorway and peered into the hall. It was only half full, but the men were filtering in at a steady rate. Graeme and his brothers had yet to make an appearance, so Eveline started toward the first table to serve the warriors already seated.
She was greeted by looks of surprise and more than a few raised eyebrows. A few even scowled in the direction of the kitchen. Eveline had no idea what to make of that. Perhaps they preferred to be served by women of their own clan. Montgomery women. It only made her all the more determined to be the one to serve each and every one of them.
She was through the first table and was heading to the one opposite when all activity ceased. Several men at the table she was facing looked nervously behind her. One even dropped his goblet, spilling ale all over the table. Eveline winced, sure she’d somehow be blamed for the mishap.
She turned to see what all the fuss was about and met the gaze of her husband, and he looked furious. He stalked in her direction with such a black look that she hastily took two steps back, bumping into one of the seated warriors behind her.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She was sure he roared the question because the vibrations were strong in her ears.
Without waiting an answer, he yanked the tray from her hands, shoved it into the hands of a nearby serving woman and then took Eveline’s arm to herd her toward the table where he always sat.
He sat her down and then immediately took her hands in his, turning them over so the blisters and raw skin on her palms were readily visible.
He waited until she lifted her gaze to him, and then he said so clearly that she couldn’t possibly misinterpret his words, “Who did this to you?”
Her brow furrowed. “No one did this to me.”
Graeme glanced up, and Eveline saw he was looking at Bowen and Teague, who’d arrived at the table. They must have asked him what was amiss because he held up her hands so they were visible to all, and his lips curled into a snarl.
“This is what is amiss. Look at her hands. Look at what they’ve done.”
“But, Graeme, no one did this to me,” she protested. “I scraped them when I was bringing wood into the hall yesterday morning and the blisters are from the washing and cleaning.”
Bowen took the seat directly in front of her, his frown as fierce as Graeme’s. She glanced nervously to where Teague had taken a seat next to Bowen. He didn’t look pleased either. His mouth was set into a firm line.
“I don’t understand,” she said in bewilderment. She turned to Graeme. “Have I offended you in some way?”
Bowen’s hand came down on the table, jerking her attention back to him. “What on earth were you doing trying to carry those logs in? Not even the lads can hoist those pieces of wood. ’Tis why we have one of the men do it, so none of the women incur injury trying to start the fires in the mornings.”
Eveline’s cheeks heated as realization struck her. The other women had well known that one of the men had the duty of carrying in the wood. Why then would they have wanted her to attempt it?
Her lips trembled, but she was determined that no one see her upset. She wouldn’t give the women the satisfaction of knowing they’d made her feel foolish even for a moment.
Now she wondered just what else Nora had fabricated when she’d instructed Eveline on her duties. For the last couple of days, Eveline had worked harder than she’d ever worked in her life. She’d performed tasks that surely had to belong to the lowliest member of the clan. And yet she hadn’t complained. She hadn’t balked.
How they must have laughed behind her back as they watched her struggle to perform every single job that had been assigned to her. All that talk of leading by example. Eveline felt like the simpleton she’d been accused of being for so long.
She glanced down at her sore and torn hands and slipped the cuffs of her sleeves even farther over her palms.
Graeme touched her arm, but she refused to look up at him. She didn’t want him to see the shame and humiliation in her eyes nor did she want to give in to the tears that threatened. Instead she stared down at the ill-formed oatcake in front of her and was tempted to hurl it across the room.
The table shook, and she glanced up in time to see Graeme stalk away from the table. Those hated tears she fought so hard shimmered in her vision. How she hated them all right now. Everything had been so perfect between her and Graeme and now he was angry and she was miserable and so humiliated, she wanted to die from it.
She’d been a trusting idiot, so eager to please, so determined to win a place in the hearts of her new clan when such a thing was never going to be possible.
Bowen reached over the table to lay his hand on hers, and she turned her gaze to him, battling tears with everything she had inside her. Damned if she’d let them know how much they’d hurt her. Damn them all.
“Eveline, he is not angry with you,” Bowen said, his expression gentle.
“They hate me,” she whispered. “They all hate me and there is naught to do about it. Graeme can’t make them accept me. I want to go home.”
Teague abruptly stood and also turned and stalked from the table. Eveline closed her eyes at the rapidly forming nightmare that was her life. Her future. It had never looked so bleak as it did now.
“I’m not hungry,” she announced. “I have a need for some fresh air.”
Before Bowen could say anything more, she turned away from him so he was effectively silenced to her. She, too, left the table, but she retreated to the back entrance, the one that led to the back of the keep.
There was a gateway that led to the back meadow where the children often played. No one would be about this early, and she could walk beyond the bend in the river where it meandered through Montgomery land and slashed through the sloping hillside behind the keep.
A long walk was what she needed. Away from the others. Away from their scorn and ridicule and their childish games they played to make her feel stupid. She was finished being the object of their amusement. They could all go rot for all she cared. For the first time she understood her clan’s hatred of the Montgomerys. A more horrid lot of people she’d never met.
CHAPTER 33
Graeme was so furious that he had to step into the courtyard to collect himself or he feared harming someone in his rage. Never had he been so angry with members of his own clan. Never had he been in the grip of such a helpless rage. He wanted to strangle the lot of them.
The devastation and shame in Eveline’s eyes had been his undoing. Seeing the damage wrought to her hands by the misdeeds of the women of his clan, not to mention the other abuses that had been heaped upon her, made him want to repay them in kind.
“Graeme, is ought amiss?”
He turned to see Father Drummond standing a few feet away, a concerned look on the young man’s face.
“Aye,” Graeme snapped, not volunteering more information.
“Is there something I can do?” the priest inquired softly. “I was on my way to the hall to break my fast and then to meet Rorie in the accounting room. The lass is determined to begin her lessons at once. I fear she’ll keep me prisoner until she’s mastered the art of reading and writing.”
Father Drummond’s attempt at levity fell flat as Graeme continued to seethe. He tempered his words, though, because Father Drummond was a good man. A man of God and he deserved none of Graeme’s ire.